Topher’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Caring? Sure, if you mean caring about being the first to spread gossip.”
Josephine was unfazed. “She’s harmless. Now, are we finishing this Scrabble game or not?”
We played a few games. Topher won them all by a landslide. Then, he and I headed to the kitchen to make lunch.
As I started chopping vegetables for a salad, Topher stirred the spaghetti sauce and slipped into a yoga pose. He had one leg stretched back in what I could only guess was Warrior, his other arm lazily swirling the spoon.
I paused, knife hovering above the cucumber. He had listened to me. Topher—the workaholic, always-on, never-slow-down Topher—was trying to relax. A sense of warmth spread through me.
After lunch, Josephine rested most of the day, allowing Topher plenty of time to work. Later that night, after we’d cleaned up dinner and Josephine had gone to bed, it was time to set up Topher’s bed.
“How hard could this be?” He ripped the box open.
I eyed the lounger. “So…do we have a plan for blowing this thing up?”
After scouring the house for an air pump and coming up empty, we realized we’d have to inflate it the old-fashioned way. Lung power. We each took a valve and started blowing. Within minutes, I was lightheaded, and Topher wasn’t faring any better.
“This…is…ridiculous,” I gasped, pausing to catch my breath. “Why…didn’t we…get the next size…down?”
Topher, equally out of breath, just laughed between puffs. “Who…knew…blowing up…a beach lounger…was…an Olympic sport?”
After several dizzying rounds of huffing and puffing, the lounger was finally inflated. We collapsed onto the now-bouncy surface, panting and laughing like we’d just finished a marathon.
“You know,” Topher said, “I’m not sure if it’s the exhaustion talking, but this is way more comfortable than it has any right to be.”
“So,” I said, turning to face him, “when was the last time you had to blow something up manually?”
Topher let out a small chuckle. “Does my ego count?”
Well, well, well, Topher Brodie making fun of himself. I raised an eyebrow, feeling a grin spread across my face. “If it did, I think we’d need a lot more than lung power.”
He gave a half-smile, his tone shifting slightly. “You joke, but honestly, I might have a big ego for a reason. With some of the decisions I have to make, it’s necessary.”
I blinked, caught a little off guard. “Oh, please. What could be stressful about choosing between fifty different shades of navy-blue suits?”
“You’d be surprised,” he replied with mock seriousness, his eyes twinkling. “Do you know how many variations of navy exist? It’s a minefield.”
I snorted. “Your life is truly a hardship. What’s next? You can’t decide which luxury watch to wear?”
Topher placed a hand over his heart, leaning into the joke. “The struggle is real. Too much gold, not enough platinum. It’s a nightmare.”
I laughed. “I’m sure.”
We kept talking, the conversation flowing effortlessly. Somehow, between the jokes and playful jabs, I found myself relaxing even more. It was easy to forget, just for a little while, that we were supposed to be pretending to be something we weren’t.
But then, as I shifted on the lounger, I noticed something strange. The surface beneath me was slowly sinking.
“Topher,” I whispered, nudging him with my elbow. “The beach lounger’s dying.”
He glanced down, and for a moment, he just stared at the deflating palm trees. Then, much to my surprise, he started laughing. Deep, genuine laughter that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I groaned. “All that work was wasted. Come on, we’ve got to find something else for you.”
We tiptoed through the house, gathering every cushion and blanket we could find. Soon, we fashioned a makeshift bed on the floor, layering it with everything soft we could gather. Topher lay down, testing it with a satisfied sigh.
“Not bad.” He flashed me a grin as I climbed into the bed.
I smiled back. “At least you won’t wake up feeling like you’ve been run over by a truck.”
